“Why do you help her?” Lord Fox was angry, his ire directed at the Gorvekai leader. Fists clenched, hands straying toward the sword at his hip, every line of his body threatened violence. “She failed your test. Why would you show her how to wield shadowglass? Are you that desperate to see your prophecy fulfilled that you would give her your secrets rather than wait for someone worthy?”

“Why do you think your sister isn’t worthy?” Lord Agnarr was calm, more concerned with the bowl of tea between his hands than Lord Fox’s fury. We sat around a hastily built campfire as we waited out the night—enough time to beg mercy from whatever god would listen. We were to cross paths with the Odalian army the next day, and Lord Fox’s request for at least one good night’s sleep for our soldiers was a demand by the time his words filtered through the generals.

Lord Rahim had quietly volunteered for the first watch, suggesting two asha for every shift after his. Lady Zoya, however, showed no signs of wanting to rest. She reclined against a boulder, watching the exchange.

“Weren’t her letters proof enough? Why do you have so little faith?” Lord Agnarr asked.

Lord Fox glowered. “I can no longer trust her actions.”

“Do you intend to slay her before she finds the First Harvest?”

He hesitated. He attempted to speak, but the words died before I heard them, and he trailed into silence.

The Gorvekai glanced at Lord Khalad, who appeared deep in thought. “And what of you, Forger? You fought with her, shared her hopes and fears. Do you feel the same?”

The white-haired man blinked and shook himself out of his thoughts. “I do trust her, milord. I would not have forged lightsglass for her if I didn’t.”

“But you have your own motives for wishing her success, don’t you?” The Gorvekai’s voice was like stroking fur.

“I’d rather not talk about it, milord.” The fire fanned its shadows across Lord Khalad’s face.

“The night can overwhelm,” the older man murmured. “There is good reason to fear those who wield too much of the Dark. I have seen many succumb to its lure, witnessed noble natures corrupted under its direction. But I have also seen some struggle to rise above its attraction. I am sorry for your other sister, Lord Fox. Lady Tea grieves too.”

“I cannot forgive her.” Lord Fox remained unbending.

“But do you still love her?”

The familiar looked away, and that was answer enough. “Why do you help her? She failed your trial.”

The man smiled, his expression sympathetic, almost pitying. “Because she didn’t, General Pahlavi. She passed.”

17